


Jareth

by animefreak



Category: Mortal Kombat Conquest
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-22
Updated: 2010-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animefreak/pseuds/animefreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rayden talks to an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jareth

disclaimer: mortal kombat conquest and labyrinth belong to a whole slew of  
other people who are not dragon. no infringement intended.

time: a thousand years ago  
place: zhou zhin  
spoilers: none  
synopsis: rayden knows a whole bunch of interesting people, and even  
goblin kings can get lonely.

jareth

Rayden had popped in about dinnertime. Oddly, for once, he had stayed, even eating with them and complimenting Taja on her cooking. Taja had given the other two one of those triumphant looks she didn't get to use very often. Rayden was definitely on her good side, even if he was insisting on sitting on a barrel, lounging back against the wall behind him, one foot propped up on the barrel rim, the other dangling over the side. She decided against asking him *why* he couldn't sit at the table like a civilized person.

He had a drink with them. He told them a story. Rayden was in a very odd mood that night. It was a story of choices and growth about a girl, a goblin king, a stolen baby and a labyrinth. Although, to a great extent, the baby and the labyrinth were not that important, what was important was the lessons the girl learned, and the heartache caused even by doing the right thing.

"So she chose well, to grow up and be responsible," Siro summed up the story.

Kung Lao regarded Rayden oddly. "And what does that have to do with us?"

"Nothing," Rayden said with one of his more infuriating smiles. "I just felt like telling a story. And now," he came down off the barrel. "I am leaving. Through the door." He gestured and the door opened for him. He walked out into a soft summer evening, a 3/4 moon riding high in the sky. Someone had followed him. He turned to find Taja closing the door behind her. "Yes?"

"What happened to the Goblin King?"

Rayden allowed himself a puzzled look. "Why?"

"Because he -- he was sad. He lost -- but -- I don't know, it was almost as though he was pleading with her. Why?"

"Because the realm of goblins works by different rules than most realms."

"What rules?"

"The goblin realm grows and shrinks with the level of belief in goblins."

Taja looked disbelieving and somewhat bewildered. "That doesn't make sense."

Rayden sighed. "Magic," came his succinct answer as he twinkled out leaving Taja frustrated in her quest for answers.

Rayden twinkled back in not far away. It was a nice night for a walk.

"Why do you always tell that story?" a slightly nasal, vaguely British accented male voice asked from somewhere around the vicinity of halfway up the wall to his left.

Rayden looked into the shadows to see a familiar face. It was a thin, lined face with eyes that bore odd sorrows for those with the gift to see. To most, it was a hard eyed face surrounded by wisps of thin fine hair. Seated on a broken area of wall, the rest of the man was obscured by a gray cloak.

"Jareth," he greeted him by name, twinkled out and twinkled in next to him on the wall. "Good evening."

"Good evening," came the response, though not echoing the good will of the thunder god. "Why --"

"Do I insist on telling that story? Well, it's a good story."

Jareth looked long-suffering as he waited for the rest of Rayden's justifications.

"And it always gets your attention."

"That's a good reason for telling it?"

"It is when I want to be certain of getting your attention."

"You are annoying." Jareth gathered himself beneath his cloak to shift to his favorite white owl shape and leave.

"Your Realm is shrinking again."

Jareth froze. The face he turned to Rayden was etched in stone, a cold glitter in his dark eyes. Rayden was playing games with him and Jareth did not appreciate it at all. "And if it is?"

Rayden ignored the venom in his voice. "You need believers."

That elicited a bitter laugh from Jareth. "And you have a solution?"

Had Rayden not been such a master of sarcasm himself, he'd have winced or taken umbrage. "Maybe. Walk with me?" For a moment, he thought the Goblin King would refuse, but then he nodded.

They both transferred to the street, the Goblin King dispensing with his cloak and looking thoroughly out of place in his vaguely early 19th century cut coat and pantaloons. He pulled bubbles out of the air and began twirling them as thin walled glass balls in his hands. It was an elegant bit of juggling to keep them in constant movement without seeming to pay any attention to them. They passed several couples on the street. Rayden pulled attention, Jareth demanded it.

Soon enough they came to a tavern. Music played. The lights were warm and welcoming. The girls were also. Rayden bought them both drinks. Jareth sipped at his, let his eyes rove over the people inside, causing most of them to look away from the odd stranger. A faint smile played around his thin lips. Belief might be at a low, but it was good to know he could still disturb without even trying.

Somewhere, someone mentioned goblins. The mere mention of the word vibrated cosmic strings that led directly to the Goblin King. Without seeming to move, his entire being went from relaxed to bowstring taut. His eyes caught Rayden's. The Thunder God looked mild, benign, untouched and uninvolved. All of which belied his own inner tension. He had a good reason for bringing Jareth here.

Out in the kitchen, one of the youngest of the serving girls who worked mainly with the cook, was in tears, again. The cook had thrashed her for being a couple of minutes tardy with the eggs. The same cook who had admonished her to take care the last time she had brought them in because she'd tripped, fallen and let two of the eggs drop from her apron to break on the floor. She'd been thrashed for that, too. The cook had threatened to make her sleep in the cold ashes of the fireplace to wait for the goblins to come make things tidy.

She was shocked at the thought of goblins being tidy. But as her sobs calmed down to sniffles, she looked out at the starlit night with its near full moon and muttered that she wished the goblins would come take her away, right now.

She turned to stir the stew pot on the fire and turned back to the doorway to find a tall, slender, very oddly dressed stranger regarding her with eyes like a hawk. She started to back up, then realized that doing so would probably put her skirts in the fire, again. She wiped her hands on her apron, as much from nervousness as from the need to clean them. He stood there, like a statue, watching her.

"The -- the customers' door is around that way," she told him, gesturing vaguely toward the front of the establishment.

"I know where the front door is. But it's *you* that draws me here." His eyes narrowed slightly, frightening her. She had tried very hard to hide her blossoming figure under the cast offs given her by the cook.

"Come here." It was an imperious command, not to be ignored.

With a sinking feeling of despair, she moved toward him. Her face was heart shaped, with well-opened eyes of a smoky blue. Her lips were no longer the buds of childhood, but the blossoms of a young woman. He looked her over critically. Yes, this was where the cry for succor had originated, even if she didn't know it for what it was.

"I'm Jareth, the Goblin King," he introduced himself softly, in that most seductive of voices reserved only for those of whom he was uncertain.

Her eyes widened. She looked him up and down. She swallowed hard and looked into his eyes again, searching -- searching for she didn't know what, yet knowing that she might find it there. "You can't be a goblin," she told him with a half smile. "You're -- I mean --" she broke off flustered. She was about to tell him he was entirely too beautiful to be a goblin.

His gloved fingertips caught her chin and brought her face up again, so he could see into it. "Too what?" he asked with a smirk.

"Beautiful," she whispered, and the truth of what she thought lay in those wonderful eyes.

For the first time in centuries, Jareth was flustered and at a loss for words. Then they came, soft, pleading, desperate: "Love me, worship me, obey me and I will be your slave."

"I do," came the unexpected reply from the child-woman, her eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears.

He pulled her to him, his eyes devouring her. They shifted. It was an odd realm, but it was home.

Rayden listened unobtrusively as the cook ranted and raved about no good, lazy slave girls who broke eggs and let the stew burn. She informed the tavern owner that the next time he brought in help, no matter how good the price, it would not be the good-for-nothing daughter of a murdered merchant prince and his no-better-than-she-should-have-been murdered wife. She didn't care if he *did* feel she'd grow up into a useful serving wench.

With a satisfied smile of his own, he left.

(not only does dragon have a soft spot for bad guys, she adores Bowie as Jareth)


End file.
